These Endless Nights
by sweetburgundy
Summary: A different take on Dr Clarkson and Isobel after Matthew's death. Can Dr Clarkson stop being a doctor long enough to offer Isobel the comfort she needs?


"I'd better go," he said, setting the wine glass down on the table after a quick glance at his watch. The sky was already a dusty blue, the late summer air turning crisp around Isobel's front garden.

"I suppose you must," she said with a hazy sigh.

Selfishly, and not for the first time that evening, he averted his eyes away from hers. Sometimes, it was easier not to see the lingering grief that lay there.

"It's been a long day," he said, inspecting a loose shred of skin on his left thumb. He noticed that she dropped her own gaze as she nodded her agreement.

"It will be a long night," she said.

He shifted uncomfortably in the hard wood of the garden chair, half-committed to standing up, but repressed by the urge to stay. He had never even intended to step over the front doorstep.

"It's always worse at night. Everything seems a little darker, a little more endless." She glanced out across the shadowy lawn. "You get so wrapped up in your thoughts that you can't see the light anymore, and being alone… well, I've never been good at that."

She took a deep breath and let out a vulnerable half-smile. He could see the way eternity unfolded behind her eyes, laid bare by the first dewy glimmer of starlight.

"It's never pleasant for anyone to be alone at night," he said. "It's when loneliness sets in the most, and it seems that no one else can possibly understand how you feel. I promise you, that's not true."

He saw the smile settle on her mouth, her lips slightly parted with the weight of an impossible suggestion.

"But nothing is a greater healer than time, and it may not get better overnight," he said, watching her mouth close, the smile fading, her hands clasping in her lap. "But, I promise it won't always be like this. You will get used to it."

"Yes," she agreed quietly, turning her face away from him and wrapping her arms around herself. "I will get used to it."

Silence burned in the air between them, heavy and thick. He stood up, scalded by her withdrawal.

"It's getting late," he said, smoothing the material of his trousers, paying attention to every crease and piece of fluff that had gathered there. The sound of his uncertainty hung in the air, tentative and obvious as he waited for a response from her. "Mrs Crawley?"

She nodded her acknowledgement, rubbing the thin lace sleeves of her summer dress. He wondered why she should be cold on such a mild evening.

"Goodnight," she said, her voice small and coated in something that made him uneasy. "Thank you anyway."

"Anyway?"

As the word slipped sourly off his tongue, loaded with the suggestion of his failure, he understood.

He understood why she slipped away from him the harder he tried to pull her back. He understood why her words were so lost and broken that he found it easier to stare at the half-empty wine bottle. He understood that she wanted something more than he had given tonight.

"You don't need me to tell you that everything will be alright," he said, taking a few steps towards her. She turned to look at him with fire in her eyes, and he realised why he had come here in the first place.

"I'm not your patient," she said.

"No," he said, with a resonating softness. "But you are my friend."

Her expression didn't change, but he saw her shoulders relax a little.

"I didn't mean to sound like a doctor. I forget that it isn't the most important thing in the world at times."

"It is quite important," she said. He saw the hint of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

"Perhaps, but I forget how to be around people."

"Clinical."

"Yes. I suppose you expected a little warmth and comfort. I must have left you rather cold."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving his. This time, he met her gaze with the same reassuring intensity.

"Forget about time. Friendship is the greatest healer, and I happen to be quite good at fixing people. If you'll forgive me for this past hour, I'd like to start again."

She stared at him for a long moment, curiosity moving between them on the summer breeze.

"I'd like that too," she said. "Although, I've probably drunk more than enough wine for one evening."

He laughed, letting the sound fill the empty spaces as he picked up their glasses from the table.

"Didn't I mention that friendship is best served with a good glass of wine?"

"No, you didn't," she said, taking a glass from him and gazing into the dreamy, ruby liquid. "But I'll give it a try."


End file.
